Clockwork
by I.Write.Love
Summary: Their lives worked together, like clockwork, fitting together perfectly no matter what. Rated M for character-death.


**I blame Tumblr.**

**You see, there's been this huge influx of Sadstuck on my Tumblr dash, so I was compelled to write this in the early morning because I was half-asleep and had a wonderful idea in my head.**

**I'm sorry, readers OTL I really am.**

**But...**

**Have some Sadstuck Bro/Dave. **

**Warning: Hussie. Owns. EVERYTHING. -curls up-**

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><p><strong>Clockwork<strong>

They had moved in time, they had a rhythm they set after years of sneak attacks and training; only the other knew the strategic steps the other took to avoid confrontation if he was in a bad mood. It became a melody, a beat, a song they both knew the words to, but couldn't ever explain it to anyone else. The words were they, in their heads, the beat echoed in their ears, the melody floated around them, but it became so second nature, it slipped their minds. So sweet, so easy. Striders always moved in rhythm, no matter the fucking circumstances, things like sidesteps to avoid a smuppet to the face were just impulse instinct. Dave Strider could describe his life with that- impulse instinct, clinging to the only person who knew him, but instinctively keeping him away because that's what he was raised to do.

"_poker face up, keep everyone at a distance. they don't understand you."_

Where did the beat go? God, his blood ran cold, but he was always so sure he had an ice cold heart, and he could feel a burning tightness in his throat, pinpricks at the back of his eyes. Dave sucked in a shaky breath, kneeling down next to the only person who ever truly knew him, knew his motives. Simplicity. Yeah, it was simple. His fists clenched in his black jeans, and he bowed his head, trying to ignore the nauseating iron smell, ignoring the way his knees got sticky and definitely ignored how the tears began running down his face. Striders didn't cry. They didn't fucking cry, goddammit.

The song the two of them built up, between all those little glances and every sidestep Dave took that ended with him right into his arms, that song that became his favorite, that he knew the words to like nothing else, that was so easy, so sweet… IT was gone. The words, the beat, the rhythm. Just gone. He couldn't remember how precise they were, how much in time they had become, how they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, how much like clockwork their lives became.

How much he fucking loved him.

"Dammit, Bro. Dammit," he chanted, wiping the tears away and faced with the urge to punch him, punch the dead body of his older brother laying in front of him, to ignore how there was a sword sticking straight up out of his middle and just punch his shoulder. But, all he could muster was his fist laying on his chest, tears staining the white polo Bro had always worn and he reached up and wiped away the last bit of liquid at his eyes. He couldn't believe this was happening- this couldn't actually be happening. Dave used his sleeve to dry his cheeks, sniffling and trying to keep the tears from flowing any more than necessary, trying to feel the beat in his chest to see if maybe he was still alive.

His brother's chest was still.

"Bro. Wake up," he pleaded, tears still falling (_those triangular shades slipping off his face, revealing red eyes that stared back at him_). "Bro, dammit. You can't be fucking dead. (_the feel of calloused hands on his cheeks, fingers on the metal wires of his own aviator shades_) "Bro, you asshole, don't leave me." (_too-soft, skilled lips pressing onto his, moving softly, taking everything step by small step_) "F-Fuck, Bro…"

(_a hand on his hip, hot breath in his ear, a pain, pleasure, his voice pleading, begging 'oh, god, bro, yes')_

"I'm only fucking thirteen! You can't just die and leave me alone!"

His voice came out distressed, so emotional, choked with tears and it broke his mask, fucking ruined it like how his heart had been ruined, how that natural beat was ruined, like his fucking life was ruined. Dave clenched his fists again, into Bro's shirt, feeling the fabric rip a bit, seams becoming undone. "Bro… I love you. I love you… I fucking love you and you're my fucking brother and I don't fucking care." His voice was hysterical, craving and pleading for Bro to just say it back. "Fuck. You're the only one I have ever loved. Now you're dead and my fucking life is just… I don't know."

He took control of his breathing, steadying it and taking even gulps in between his clenched teeth. He composed his self, and stood, shakily, to his feet, picking up his sword as he went, looking down at the shitty one Bro had always used, covered in blood. He felt his heart give a little, and he closed his eyes and turned.

"_time to move on little bro."_

He opened his eyes to the sky.

They always ran like clockwork.


End file.
